ROAD TRIP
I'm pretty sure one version of Hell is being a mom trapped in a van with the brood she was blessed with. Unlike the restaurant or grocery store, at least there are none of the glares from strangers, but in some ways it's worse -- you are alone, you are responsible, you are falling apart. In my next life I will be an inventor, and the first thing I'm going to come up with is an eject button that will lift my screaming children up and out of the van and dump them (safely) at our destination. Meanwhile, here's a poem:
Are We There Yet?
If it was only that innocuous question,
I could and would tune it out. But
it’s high-pitched MomMomMom
and one of them is sticking his tongue out
and the other one’s kicking the back of my seat
and if I could reach them I would pull
one’s hair and if I believed in that sort of thing,
I would slap the other’s face and if that didn’t work,
and if I wasn’t on a busy highway
I would open the door and shove them both out
and drive away. Oh sure, I’d come back
for them later, after I’d cried and gotten a handle
on myself, and after they’d had a chance to feel
scared and alone, but I can’t do that, no, I’m driving
and I am stuck in this seat at this red light
that so far is not changing and these kids
are pushing me pushing me over the edge
and my arms aren’t long enough and
there’s nothing to stuff in their mouths
and I don’t know what to do, I don’t
know what to do and you have the
audacity to call me on my cell phone
to ask me how’s my day.
- Irene Latham
Are We There Yet?
If it was only that innocuous question,
I could and would tune it out. But
it’s high-pitched MomMomMom
and one of them is sticking his tongue out
and the other one’s kicking the back of my seat
and if I could reach them I would pull
one’s hair and if I believed in that sort of thing,
I would slap the other’s face and if that didn’t work,
and if I wasn’t on a busy highway
I would open the door and shove them both out
and drive away. Oh sure, I’d come back
for them later, after I’d cried and gotten a handle
on myself, and after they’d had a chance to feel
scared and alone, but I can’t do that, no, I’m driving
and I am stuck in this seat at this red light
that so far is not changing and these kids
are pushing me pushing me over the edge
and my arms aren’t long enough and
there’s nothing to stuff in their mouths
and I don’t know what to do, I don’t
know what to do and you have the
audacity to call me on my cell phone
to ask me how’s my day.
- Irene Latham
posted by Irene Latham at 9:48 AM
2 Comments:
Welcome to my world ... oh you have been there all along. Just remember these are the easy days wait till they are teenagers and know everything. Hang in there with me.
How is it that they, I mean dads here, always call when everything's falling apart? Along with an eject button, I'd like to be able to mute, or even have a window that slides up between the front and the back seat! This poem is hilarious, and so true, Irene. Thanks for posting a comment Sherri, if you have a poem you'd like to submit, please feel free to e-mail it to me (see profile). P.S. Am I the only one who has sent myself to time out?
Post a Comment
<< Home